The duke’s fingers close around my wrist and he gently pulls my hand away. But he doesn’t let go. Daniel must notice, but he doesn’t say anything.
“I’m good. I’m sober.” I struggle upright. The duke helps me straighten, but stays at my side.
“She’s had a shock,” he tells Daniel.
“Indeed.” Daniel frowns.
“Oh, for goodness sake, I’m fine.” I tug back my hair. I feel ridiculous sitting in my bathrobe with two exquisitely dressed men, but what else is new? It’s not the worst thing to happen this morning.
“All right.” Daniel paces. “We must confer.”
“Go ahead,” the duke—Benedict—commands. I try to take my hand back, but his grip tightens. His thumb soothes the inside of my wrist.
“The photographers have been removed from the premises, and the security team is on their way. The lawyers are working on pressing charges to stop the most recent photos getting out. However, there’s more press outside. Parked on the street.”
“How many more?” Benedict demands.
“Five vans, six cars.”
I stiffen, and the duke’s arm goes around my shoulders. “We’ll escort you home.”
“That won’t stop the scrutiny,” Daniel says to me, almost apologetic. “They are calling you a mystery woman. I’m afraid the paparazzi won’t stop until they know who you are.”
Hot and cold race up my spine. I swallow. “I have nothing to hide,” I lie.
“We will do our best to stop them,” Benedict vows. He glances back at Daniel.
“Of course we will. However, there’s no doubt this complicates things. First the pictures, then an unknown woman of similar description exiting your house in the buff.”
“It’s my problem,” Benedict says. His left hand has moved to my back, and it rubs up and down. “I don’t want to drag Frankie into it.”
“No, wait,” I protest. “I’m an adult. I can handle it. I want to help.”
“What Daniel’s proposing is ludicrous,” Benedict says. His deep voice rumbles through my body. The sensation is delicious. I try not to lose my train of thought.
“But… could we pull it off?” I ask.
Daniel arches a brow at me, and I realize I’m sitting on the couch, holding the duke’s hand with his arm around me.
“I mean,” I swallow and will my blush not to rise, “is it possible that, if we announce our engagement, the paparazzi will back off?”
“No,” Benedict says at the same time as Daniel says, “Yes.”
“With permission, Your Grace?” Daniel waits for a nod from the duke before he launches into his plan. “I believe if we announce it soon, we can shape the narrative. You’re the commoner next door, he met you when you were pet sitting. We stick to the truth. It could work.”
The duke snorts.
“It could,” Daniel insists.
“But I'm American. Won’t that be a problem?”
Daniel waves a hand. “We’ll deal with that later. It’s not like you actually have to marry him.”
“Well, thank god for that,” I say, mostly joking, but the duke stiffens.
“Excuse me,” he says, removing his hand.
“Eligible royals falling in love with Americans is in vogue,” Daniel says. “It would be a scandal, yes, but minor. And it would deflect from the actual scandal.”
“Would it?” I ask.
The duke sighs. “I suppose it would.”
“You know I’m right.” Daniel is almost crowing.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Not so fast, Fairy Godfather. When I said I’m American, I meant I have zero idea what royal protocol is. I have no idea how to act.”
“Easily taught.” Daniel shrugs.
“I must be drunk.” I shake my head. “I can’t believe I’m considering this.” But I am considering it. I’ve been burned before, but maybe the duke isn’t like those assholes. The duke is… almost nice.
“Is it so inconceivable to consider?” Daniel asks, sweeping his arms out. “Look at him!”
I do as instructed and turn to behold Benedict.
“Tall. Handsome. Intelligent.” Daniel ticks his boss’s attributes off using his fingers. “Did I mention tall?”
“Daniel,” Benedict warns.
“And… he’s rich.” Daniel glares at the duke. I feel like I’m in the middle of a fight. “So whatever you would like, Frankie, ask now.”
“Anything?” I ask Benedict. “Up to half your kingdom?” I quip.
“My god.” Benedict touches a finger to his head, like Daniel and my shenanigans are giving him a headache. St. Francis save me, I love seeing him squirm.
“Money?” Daniel suggests. “Connections? Citizenship?”
I suck in a breath. Citizenship in New Arcadia is seriously hard to get. You have to prove Arcadian ancestry going back three generations.
“You could officially immigrate here.” Daniel dangles the bait. “And we could set you up with whatever you need. A house? A car?”
“A scholarship? Or money, so I could go to university?” The University of Arcadia is close to here. I passed it in a cab on the way from the airport. The towering gothic structure surrounded by cherry trees in bloom is the epitome of a hallowed hall of learning. I could go there, graduate, and get a job. I’d never have to leave. I’d be a success, and I’d never have to return home.
“Done.” Daniel doesn’t smile, but his eyes shine.
Benedict clears his throat. “Excuse us, Miss Beaumonde,” he says. “I need a word with my head of PR.”
The two stalk out of the room, leaving me huddled on the couch, gnawing my lip. What the hell is happening here? One minute, I’m enjoying coffee and contemplating a quiet year. The next, I’m considering stepping out of my solitude to fake an engagement with a man dogged by paparazzi. I might have to rub elbows with awful, judgy rich people—and worse. Royal rich people.
I start to bite my lip and then stop. No more nervous habits. No more weird tics. I will have to dress properly, act properly. Half the time, I don’t even remember to brush my hair. What the hell am I thinking?
“Miss Beaumonde.” Benedict is back, and for some reason I feel relief. It’s as if the room stops spinning.
He seats himself next to me, and I automatically align myself to him, leaning close. He leans in too, putting his hand on my knee. “I know this is very sudden.”
My heart flutters despite itself. He looks so serious and handsome, my toes curl like a nervous bride’s. “Are you going to propose?”
His lips quirk. God, he’s so pretty. “It’s not ideal, I know. I’m the last person you would consider marrying.”
“More like the other way around.” I wrinkle my nose.
“I’d marry you,” he says immediately, then gives his head a little shake when he realizes what he just said. “ Or someone like you. That is to say—”
“I get it,” I say, then flush. “Sorry. I shouldn’t interrupt. I’ll have to break that habit.” I fold my hands in my lap. Calm. Poised. Meek. Demure.